Deng Qing thought, The progress is climbing nicely, but my realm is still Mortal.
He did not know how far he had to train the Tiger-Subduing Fist before his realm would truly change.
As he was thinking, footsteps came from the front gate.
Deng Qing looked up. Li Liang approached in a dark uniform, a saber at his waist and a grim look on his face.
Deng Qing hurriedly dropped his stance and cupped his fists. "Senior Brother Li."
Li Liang frowned. "I only just found out you're working here without wages.
If you aren't earning wages, how will you pay the service levy? Boy, do you know what happens if you make a fool of me?"
Deng Qing cupped his fists. "Don't worry, Senior Brother. If the deadline comes and I still can't pay, you won't need to come for me. I'll report for service myself."
The service levy hung over his head like a blade. How could Deng Qing not be anxious?
But he knew what mattered most right now.
His most pressing task was to restore his body and raise his Tiger-Subduing Fist progress. Everything else had to make way for that.
Even in the worst case, if he could not scrape together the money and was forced into service, mastering the Tiger-Subduing Fist would greatly improve his chances of survival.
Seeing that Deng Qing meant it, Li Liang nodded. "As long as you know what you're doing."
With that, he turned and left.
Deng Qing watched him go, the cord in his heart drawing tighter still.
He had to find a way to pay the levy, but he could not stop training the Tiger-Subduing Fist either.
After more than ten days of practice, though, he knew that even with Tang Juan's help, coarse-grain flatbread and cabbage soup could not sustain this training regimen.
Medicinal Wine and supplements were far beyond his reach. For now, the only thing he could hope for was meat.
I have to find a way to eat meat.
Deng Qing clenched his fist, then suddenly remembered something.
The kitchen at Celebration Hall often slaughtered pigs to provide extra meals for the Named Disciples. Another fat pig had arrived today.
If I can't get pork, can I get my hands on some Pig Offal?
Deng Qing had been in this world long enough to know that, in these times, anything edible had buyers.
But pig intestines and lungs fetched very little because of their strong, unpleasant smell.
And because they were cheap, Deng Qing thought he might have a chance of getting some.
The moment the idea struck, Deng Qing hurried toward the Back Courtyard. Before he reached it, he heard a knife being sharpened.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
On the open ground behind the kitchen, Chef Zhao had rolled up his sleeves, exposing two fat, creased arms, and stood beside a low stool sharpening his knife.
A wooden bucket and hemp rope lay on the ground.
Chef Zhao looked up, spotted him, and said with a laughing curse, "Perfect timing. Come give me a hand."
Deng Qing readily agreed. Half an hour later, the fat pig, weighing over two hundred jin, had been sent on its way.
Two laborers carried great slabs of meat, still attached to gleaming white ribs, straight into the inner courtyard on shoulder poles.
Chef Zhao and several stewards divided up the liver, stomach, and kidneys Deng Qing had been eyeing so hungrily.
Before long, he fixed his gaze on the large and small intestines, still fouled with excrement, and a pair of pig lungs.
Heaven took pity on him: Chef Zhao casually tossed all three into a dirty wooden basin.
Deng Qing pointed at the basin and asked, "Uncle Zhao, you don't want those?"
Chef Zhao was rinsing his hands with well water. He glanced back. "I do. They're good enough to feed the dogs."
Deng Qing was secretly delighted. "Uncle Zhao, could I take some home?"
Chef Zhao paused. "That stuff reeks and tastes foul. Hardly anyone eats it unless they're so poor their pockets jingle with nothing but air. What do you want it for?"
Deng Qing answered honestly, "I haven't had any fat in my belly. No matter how bad this tastes, it's better than vegetables."
Chef Zhao looked at him and sighed. "Poor kid. Take it if you want it."
Deng Qing hurriedly found an old wooden bucket and filled it.
The two laborers beside him backed away a few steps in disgust.
Deng Qing had just finished and was about to leave when Chef Zhao stopped him and pressed a small cloth packet into his hand. "It stinks. Add plenty of salt to take the smell out."
"Thank you, Uncle Zhao."
"Get going, get going. You're stinking the place up."
Deng Qing carried the wooden bucket out of Celebration Hall.
As he passed beneath the front courtyard's covered walkway, Big Yellow suddenly stood and barked twice at the bucket.
Deng Qing glared at him. "You're trying to steal my food, and you think you're in the right?"
Big Yellow barked furiously.
Another fifteen days passed in the blink of an eye.
That night, wind blew through a gap in the courtyard wall, sending dead leaves spinning across the ground.
Deng Qing stood still in the courtyard. He did not rush to strike.
First, he ran through the nine forms in his mind: Crouching Body, Reaching Claw, Sinking Shoulder, Leaping Body, Scissoring Wrist, and Twisting Spine, the six forms whose stances he had already practiced until they were familiar;
Tiger-Subduing Mountain Crusher, Hungry Tiger Locks the Throat, and Tiger-Tail Gatebreaker, the three forms he had learned in class five days earlier.
According to Fan Sheng, the first six forms built the framework. The last three were where the real power lay: techniques for killing.
Together, the nine forms made up the complete Tiger-Subduing Fist.
Deng Qing drew a deep breath and settled into his stance.
First he crouched, then he leaped. He tumbled through the courtyard, sometimes darting forward close to the ground, sometimes twisting and wheeling around, his feet scattering dead leaves.
The ruined courtyard was small. Days of hard training had stamped its once uneven ground flat and smooth.
One step took him beside the wooden post; the next saw him duck low and turn away. His shoulders and back sank and twisted, his arms reaching or scissoring. Now and then, his palm struck the post with a dull smack.
In the moonlight, his slight figure rose and fell, advanced and retreated, like a hungry tiger sharpening its claws in a cage.
After one full round, he caught his breath and started again.
The nine forms of the Tiger-Subduing Fist flowed again and again through his hands and feet. Each round grew more familiar, and each strike carried more weight.
By the third round, sweat had appeared on his brow.
By the fifth, his chest was heaving.
Yet his footwork remained steady, and his stances held firm.
Only after the seventh round did he finally come to a stop, sweat pouring off him as though he had been washed from head to toe.
Deng Qing raised a hand and looked at his palm. He could feel strength in it now.
Over those fifteen days, he had filled his belly with Pig Offal, and at last his body had begun to take on the look of a Martial Artist.
He could not help thinking, Calories really are king.
Even intestines and lungs with their rank smell were far better than coarse-grain flatbread and cabbage soup.
Deng Qing slowly exhaled. At a thought, Clear Radiance appeared.
[Heaven Helps Those Who Help Themselves, No Effort Is Wasted] [Realm: Mortal] [Tiger-Subduing Fist: 38% (Minor Mastery)]
Looking at the words "Minor Mastery" beside Tiger-Subduing Fist, Deng Qing smiled with satisfaction.
Deng Qing was about to dismiss it when his gaze suddenly sharpened.
On the screen of light, the word "Mortal" flickered faintly.
Deng Qing stopped breathing. His heart gave a violent leap.
He knew he was on the verge of a breakthrough.
When his Tiger-Subduing Fist progress had reached 19%, the word "Initiation" had flickered too.
Only after he had eaten two helpings of Pig Offal and spent an afternoon practicing his fists to stir his Qi-Blood had his progress risen from 19% to 20%, changing "Initiation" to "Minor Mastery."
Now that "Mortal" had flickered, Deng Qing sensed a breakthrough approaching.
Just then, someone knocked on the courtyard gate.
Deng Qing dismissed the screen and went over. Through the wide gap in the gate, he saw Li Liang standing outside.
Deng Qing opened the gate, and Li Liang walked in.
He still wore the same dark uniform, a saber at his waist, but there was a new weariness around his eyes.
Deng Qing cupped his fists. "Senior Brother Li."
"Practicing your fists?"
"Yes."
Li Liang's gaze lingered on him, and surprise stirred in his heart. It's only been half a month, but this kid has changed quite a bit.
"Do you know why I'm here?"
"I do. I still have five days."
"You don't have five days."
Li Liang's low voice fell like a slab of cold iron. "Three days at most. If the money isn't paid within three days, you must report for service."